


I Am Sorry, Brother

by LedaSF



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LedaSF/pseuds/LedaSF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to recover from the loss of his brother, Thor's mourning consumes him. The God of Thunder is in dire need of healing, but he needs more than one of Eir's potions. Thor seeks out Griet, Asgard's High Priestess, to cure the pain in his soul--with unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Sorry, Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Griet is my own original character for this story, but I would love to see more of the magical aspect of Asgardian life in the MCU.
> 
> In Norse mythology, the Nornir are the creators of Wyrd (fate, to use a sort-of similar term). They are Urd, who spins the threads of life; Verdandi, who weaves the threads which create the tapestry of the universe; and Skuld, who wields the dark scissors which cut each person's thread.

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother falling beyond his outstretched hand, falling, watched as Loki become a small spark of gold in the infinite skies, still falling, then disappearing into the darkness.

“No! No!” Thor screamed again as his father pulled him up onto the Bifrost. Odin sat down next to him, far back from the shattered edge of the bridge, holding Thor as he screamed.

_That did not happen. That could not have happened._

_Loki let go._

_No. His hand must have slipped as he was trying to climb back up on Gungnir._

“I’m sorry, Thor. I am sorry.” In any other circumstance, Thor would have been astonished to hear his father apologize. This time, however, it only stirred his anger.

“Why, Father? Why did you refuse him? Why did you deny him?”

Odin’s hands trembled as he held Thor’s arms. “I didn’t refuse him. I didn’t deny him.”

“You said ‘no’, Father. Of all the times—“

Thor’s grief burst out in a bellow of rage. “Nooooooo!”

Odin held his son, and they wept together.

_Loki let go._

 

No one had been on the bridge with them. Odin wove a brave tale of Loki’s solo fight against Frost Giants, and Thor’s arrival at the Observatory too late to save him. Loki had fallen from the edge while grappling with one of the monsters. Thor had finished them off, his desire for revenge for his younger brother—his King—sending him into a battle rage, killing the remaining Jotuns and flinging them from the bridge to join their compatriot. Loki had died an honorable death, and his family and his realm acknowledged him in death as they never had in life. They gave him a proper burning ship funeral, even though they had been unable to recover his body.

 

The brown-haired weaver paused in her work. “Now?”

The gray-haired spinner looked over at the woman holding the dark scissors, who shook her head. “Not yet.” The three women resumed their spinning, weaving, and measuring.

 

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother falling beyond his outstretched hand, falling, watched as Loki become a small spark of gold in the infinite skies, still falling, then disappearing into the darkness.

Thor struggled to reach out, to catch Loki, to get hold of him somehow, _to stop that fall. Do not let him let go._

Thor found himself falling out of bed, his arms outstretched to the floor, and let himself cry for Loki.

“I am sorry, brother.” His whisper seemed louder than any sound he had ever made.

 

“When did the dreams start, my Prince?” Eir looked at Thor with compassion, yet remained clinical and cool.

“The night of his funeral feast was the first one.” Thor had reluctantly agreed to see the healer. Frigga had urged him to seek advice for his sleeplessness and lack of appetite. He refused, relenting only when his mother threatened to have Odin take Mjolnir from him until he did so.

“And how often do you dream of him?”

Thor looked away. “Every night.”

Eir’s expression did not change. She had feared that Thor’s guilt would turn sour inside him, and it was, indeed, happening.

“Have you been to the Temple?”

“Not since the funeral.”

“My Prince, you need a Priestess, not a potion.”

Thor sighed. “You are right, Eir. Thank you.”

The healer nodded. “You are welcome, my Prince.”

 

The brown-haired weaver paused in her work. “Now?”

The gray-haired spinner looked over at the woman holding the dark scissors, who shook her head. “Not yet.” The three women resumed their spinning, weaving, and measuring.

 

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother falling beyond his outstretched hand, falling, watched as Loki become a small spark of gold in the infinite skies, still falling, then disappearing into the darkness.

Gungnir became a serpent, wrapping itself around Thor’s arm as it crawled up and met him, eye to eye. “You killed him,” the snake hissed, “You let go.”

“No! No! I didn’t! I tried—“

The serpent’s jaws opened, ready to swallow Thor, its eyes locked onto his.

“No! I tried to save him! Loki let go!”

Thor found himself sitting upright in bed, the sheet twisted around his arm. He quickly unwrapped it and threw it across the room, and let himself cry for Loki.

“I am sorry, brother.” His whisper seemed louder than any sound he had ever made.

 

Thor stood in front of Loki’s statue in the Temple. He had arrived early, and decided to pass the time with his brother. The sculptors had worked without stopping, and it had been finished in a week, rather than the usual months the memorial carvings typically required.

“Why, Loki?”

The statue was a remarkable likeness, and Thor almost expected it to come back at him with one of Loki’s clever retorts. But the statue did not speak.

“I am sorry, brother.” His whisper seemed louder than any sound he had ever made.

“I miss you, brother. Every day. My heart has an empty space which bears your name. Why, brother?”

Thor looked into the statue’s eyes.

“I wish you could answer.”

“What would you ask him, Prince Thor?” The High Priestess, draped in dark blue silk robes, was suddenly at his side.

“Griet. I apologize. I did not hear you approach.”

“You have no need to apologize, Prince Thor.” Griet gestured to the bench. Thor sat quickly, heavy with his grief.

“What would you ask your brother, my Prince?” Griet’s eyes shone with kindness.

_I cannot answer that. I cannot speak of it, for the truth must not be told._

“I would ask him if he is well.” Thor shifted on the bench.

“He died a valiant death, defending his kingdom.” Griet’s tone was even, but Thor wondered if she truly believed Odin’s story. “He is in Valhalla, and what better place is there for an Asgardian to be, if not here in Asgard?”

“Perhaps if there are books in Valhalla, he is happy.” Thor paused. “He was never much for arms training in life, and I don’t imagine he would feel differently just because he was in Valhalla.”

“Valhalla contains all that its souls need to be content.” Griet offered a reassuring smile. “Your brother has all the books in the universe.”

Thor looked down at the floor.

“Tell me what happened, Prince Thor.”

“Surely you have heard the story, Griet.”

“I have heard what Odin’s heralds told us. I want you to tell me what happened.”

Thor cleared his throat, and wished for Loki’s silver tongue.

“I returned from Midgard with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Mother had sent them, even though Father was still in the Odinsleep, because she knew the Frost Giants were a worry to Asgard, And to Loki.”

Griet nodded. “Our Queen is wise.”

“When I arrived, I saw Heimdall injured, and two dead Frost Giants. I gave instructions for his care, and raced to the palace. I found Loki fighting Laufey in Father’s chamber, and the Frost Giant that Mother had slain, on the ground at her feet.”

“Our Queen is also a brave fighter.”

Thor nodded. “Once he had killed Laufey, Loki bade me tend to Mother, and left for the Observatory to prevent any further incursions of Frost Giants.”

Thor paused. _In a very final way._

“Mother assured me she was alright, and said she would stay with Father. I flew to the Observatory to assist Loki.”

_That’s not exactly what happened._

“Loki had killed most of the Jotuns who had appeared in the Observatory.”

_Lying is easier than I had thought it would be. It must come with practice._

“One of the Frost Giants had attacked from behind, knocking Loki over and causing him to lose his hold on Gungnir.”

“I ran towards them, but before I could reach them—“

_Loki was hanging onto Gungnir for life, hanging out over the Void._

“They tumbled over the edge, and were gone.”

_He let go. He chose to leave us. To leave me._

Griet let the silence settle around them.

“You are troubled that you did not arrive in time to save him.”

“Yes.”

“And this disquiet expresses itself as worry for him in Valhalla.”

“Yes.”

“Prince Thor, though you could not save him, you did avenge him. You finished the battle and saved Asgard from the invaders.”

Thor continued to look at the floor. _No, that is not true._ _He denied me, and fought me, and I could not save him from his madness and sorrow._

“Yes, but—“ _I cannot tell her. She is a Priestess, and sworn to secrecy. But I cannot tell her the truth._

“But vengeance does not bring the dead back to life.” Griet’s face was still, her voice soft.

“No, it does not. It satisfies the mind, but the heart is nonetheless bereft.”

“Time heals all wounds. Even this one.”

“I hope so, Griet.”

The High Priestess reached into her sleeve, and drew forth a small orb, the size of an apricot, but perfectly clear.

Thor watched as she twirled it in her fingers, and thought of Loki practicing his early magic lessons.

Griet held the orb in her palm, offering it to Thor.

“Tonight, before you sleep, tell your story to the orb, then gaze into it. Write down whatever happens—whatever you see, or hear, or feel. Then go directly to sleep.”

Thor looked at the small globe. “What will it do?”

“It will help you find peace, my Prince.” Griet stood, and Thor rose with her.

“I wish you sweet rest tonight, Prince Thor.”

“Thank you, Griet.”

Thor watched as she made her way along the hall, past the statues of his ancestors, returning to the shadows of the inner Temple.

He looked at the orb, and tucked it gently into his pouch.

Evening would be here soon enough.

 

Thor was about to blow out the candle when he remembered his conversation with Griet. He strode across the room, pulled the orb from his pouch, and made his way to his desk.

He had not spent much time at his desk since his tutoring had officially ended, centuries ago. He remembered afternoons studying with Loki. Or, rather, afternoons spent gazing longingly out the window, wishing to be in the training yard, rather than buried in books in a stuffy room, while Loki devoured book after book on every topic.

_I would give anything to have Loki here, reading at this desk with me._

Thor shook himself, and set the orb on the desk. He lit two candles, and searched the desk, at last finding some usable parchment and a bottle that still had ink in it.

He stared at the orb, wondering what he was supposed to see.

Griet had instructed him to tell his story. He wondered if he should tell the official story, or the truth.

Thor decided to tell the official story, since that is what he had told Griet, and she had given him the orb.

He stared at the orb in the candlelight, and recited the story as he had told it Griet.

He realized that although it had become rote for his mouth, but his brain still added commentary as he spoke.

He finished the tale, and glanced again at the orb. He could see nothing different about it, and could think of nothing to write.

Thor blew out the candles, and climbed into bed.

 

The brown-haired weaver paused in her work. “Now?”

The gray-haired spinner looked over at the woman holding the dark scissors, who shook her head. “Not yet.” The three women resumed their spinning, weaving, and measuring.

 

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother hanging onto the other end of Gungnir, just beyond Thor’s outstretched hand.

“Brother, please! Take my hand!” Thor’s voice carried all the pleading of his broken heart.

Loki looked up at Thor, a sad smile on his face, as he dangled over the Void.

Staring at Thor, Loki transformed into his Jotun aspect, still clinging to Gungnir.

“Do you still want me to take your hand, Thor?” Loki’s voice roiled with anger.

“Yes! Loki, please!” Thor reached towards Loki, excited to see Loki reaching back.

Loki grabbed Thor’s arm, and the touch of his Frost Giant skin burned into Thor’s arm. Thor gasped, but tightened his grip in spite of the pain.

“I’m not your brother. I never was!” Loki hissed at Thor.

Loki dug his nails into Thor’s arm, and by reflex, Thor’s hand opened. Loki let go.

Thor screamed as he watched his brother’s blue form falling beyond his outstretched hand, falling, watched as Loki become a small spark of blue in the infinite skies, still falling, then disappearing into the darkness.

Thor found himself sitting upright in bed, the sheets tangled and torn. He pushed free of them, and let himself cry for Loki.

“I am sorry, brother.” His whisper seemed louder than any sound he had ever made.

 

Thor had made it through the day, despite wanting nothing more than to remain in his room and wait for bedtime. And now, at last, it was bedtime.

He set the orb on the table, and stared into it.

He wondered if last night’s dream hadn’t worked because he had told the official story, not the real story.

_You will not find peace until you can deal with the truth._

Thor straightened himself, and spoke aloud. “I loved my brother. I still love my brother.”

He stared at the orb. Nothing. This was some kind of magic, and he had no gift for it. _I know Loki would make it work without trying._

“We were children together, we played together, we studied together. As we grew into men, we trained together, and we fought together.”

Thor’s mind wandered through the years, and his memory took him to that terrible trip to Jotunheim.

“But I failed my teachers, I failed my trainers, I failed my King, I failed my family.” Even on Midgard, Thor had retained some sense of pride in himself, an awareness of what he had done that had been good. At this moment, however, he felt utterly devoid of value.

“I was foolish, and put my realm in danger. I put my friends in mortal peril. I abandoned my brother when he needed me most.”

 _I’m not your brother. I never was_.

“But he was my brother, and I loved him. I still love him, and I want to tell him that.”

Thor looked at the orb. It was glowing, almost imperceptibly.

“I want to go back in time and tell him that. I want to go back in time, and treat him with kindness and respect, so he wouldn’t end up in madness and despair.”

Thor looked at the orb, and decided it was glowing brighter.

“I want to keep him from falling. I want to pull him to safety, and bring him back to the palace with me, with Father. I want to tell him that, no matter his true parentage, he is my brother, and always will be.”

The orb was shining like a small moon.

“I wish it were all different, and he were here, right now.”

Thor wrote that on the parchment. _I wish it were all different, and he were here, right now._

The orb was as bright as a miniature sun.

Thor felt exhaustion roll through him in waves. He set down the pen, and barely made it to bed before falling asleep.

 

The brown-haired weaver paused in her work. “Now?”

The gray-haired spinner looked over at the woman holding the dark scissors, who shook her head.“Soon.” The three women resumed their spinning, weaving, and measuring.

 

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother hanging onto the other end of Gungnir, just beyond Thor’s outstretched hand.

“Brother, please! Take my hand!” Thor’s voice carried all the pleading of his broken heart.

Loki looked up at Thor, a sad smile on his face, as he dangled over the Void.

“Please, brother!” Thor continued to hold out his hand, and started to pull Gungnir up, Loki still clinging to the end of the spear. Thor could see the tears on Loki’s cheeks, and pulled harder on Gungnir.

“Almost there, brother!”

Thor felt a tug, and realized that the spear had moved close enough that Odin could grab it with the hand that wasn’t holding Thor. Thor gave another tug, then let go of the spear and grabbed Loki’s arm.

Thor pulled Loki close, holding his brother to his chest, and felt Odin pulling them up onto the bridge.

Then Thor was flat on his back, the bridge solid underneath him, his arms wrapped tightly around Loki, who had gone limp and quiet.

“Loki. Brother. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. We’re together.”

 

Thor was sleeping on his back, holding a pillow to his chest.

A shaft of sunlight slanted through the edge of the curtains, landing softly on Thor’s face.

Thor stirred, and held the pillow tightly.

He remembered pulling Loki up, and holding him safely in his arms.

The light grew brighter, and Thor woke.

“Brother!” Thor opened his eyes, and saw the pillow.

He let himself cry for Loki.

“I am sorry, brother.” His whisper seemed louder than any sound he had ever made.

 

Thor had no clear memory of how he had passed the day, waiting, tired and impatient, for the night to come.

He sat down at his desk and stared at the orb shining in the candle light.

 _I don’t know what else to say. I’ve said everything_.

Not everything.

“I love my brother. I would give anything for him to be here.”

He wrote the words on the parchment. _I love my brother. I would give anything for him to be here._

Thor stared at the orb, too tired to do anything more. He crawled into bed, and hoped that something would be different tonight.

 

The brown-haired weaver paused in her work. “Now?”

The gray-haired spinner looked over at the woman holding the dark scissors, who nodded her head. The weaver loosened a series of red and green threads. The spinner handed the weaver a fresh blue thread, and the three women resumed their spinning, weaving, and measuring.

 

“Loki, no!” Thor’s scream was louder than the wind blowing across the broken Bifrost, echoing mercilessly in his head as he watched his brother hanging onto the other end of Gungnir, just beyond Thor’s outstretched hand.

“Brother, please! Take my hand!” Thor’s voice carried all the pleading of his broken heart.

Loki looked up at Thor, a sad smile on his face, as he dangled over the Void.

“Please, brother!” Thor started to pull Gungnir up, Loki still clinging to the end of the spear. Thor could see the tears on Loki’s cheeks, and pulled harder on Gungnir.

“Almost there, brother!”

Thor felt a tug, and realized that the spear had moved close enough that Odin could grab it with the hand that wasn’t holding Thor. Thor gave another tug, then let go of the spear and grabbed Loki’s arm.

Thor pulled Loki close, holding his brother to his chest, and felt Odin pulling Gungnir, and them with it, up onto the bridge.

Then Thor was flat on his back, the bridge solid underneath him, his arms wrapped tightly around Loki, who had gone limp and quiet.

“Loki. Brother. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. We’re together.”

 

“Thor! Sleepyhead, wake up!”

Thor sat up and blinked. His little brother was shaking him, and sunlight was streaming in through the windows.

“Come _on_ , Thor! Can’t you smell the apple tarts?”

Thor shook his head. “Loki! You’re not blue!”

Loki laughed, amused at his brother’s confusion. “Of course I’m not blue! What do you think I am—a Frost Giant?”

Despite the sun and the warm blankets, Thor shivered, and tried to cover it with laughter. “As cold as you were last night, I believe you are!”

“Very funny, Thor! Now come on—this Frost Giant is hungry!”

Laughing, the boys wriggled into their clothes, and raced off to meet their parents.

 

“Mother, I need a new cloak!” Loki announced as they slid into their chairs at the breakfast table.

Frigga suppressed a smile. Ten years old, and Loki was already more conscious about his clothing than many of the grown women in her retinue.

“You received a new green cloak at the beginning of winter. Why would you need another?” Frigga smiled over her sons’ heads at her husband, who was watching with amusement.

“I need a blue cloak. That’s my color now, not green.”

Odin decided to play along. “And why is blue suddenly your color now, Loki?”

Loki regarded his father with innocent eyes. “Thor dreamed I was a Frost Giant, and when we woke up this morning, he wondered why I wasn’t blue!”

The boys laughed at the absurdity of it all as they helped themselves to the apple tarts.

Frigga raised an eyebrow, and Odin nodded. “Well, Loki,” Odin said, attempting to keep his voice even, “let’s talk about it tonight.”

 


End file.
